Still
by One Fine Wire
Summary: Life would go on as it always does, but no matter what, Arnold would always love her. Still.


**Still**

She was beautiful. Perfect. Six pounds, two ounces, seventeen inches long, with skin smooth to the touch and cheeks that were rosy and pink, complementing the perfect coloring rarely found in babies like her. Thick, messy blonde hair like her father's rested atop a football shaped head. In looking at his daughter, Stella, Arnold instantly saw himself. She had his nose, his mouth and chin, and his bone structure. When he bent down and pressed his face to his daughter's gently, he squinted and noticed that she inherited two, distinct, though fine, eyebrows instead of one.

Arnold straightened, and looking down at his tiny daughter, wondered whose eyes she had. Did she inherit the large, cerulean blue eyes of her mother, which possessed both a mental strength and a creative, dreamlike charm? Were they those same, gorgeous blue eyes that eventually won him over despite his stubbornness and insistence that he could never love Helga? Or were her eyes green, filled with wonder and amazement, hope, optimism, and an eternally idealistic nature that mirrored his outlook on life? Arnold always imagined Stella with his eyes.

Always.

But he would never know. His daughter would never open her eyes.

She was still.

…

Helga still hadn't seen their little daughter. The delivery was excruciatingly long and difficult even though the labor and delivery nurses used a large amount of pitocin when inducing labor to make the whole process faster. They gave her an epidural, along with various sedatives to bring her out of the hysteria she was in upon learning of Stella's death while inside her womb. Tears fell down their cheeks as they watched Helga give birth to a dead baby.

She wasn't even aware when Stella arrived, as she passed out immediately after the delivery. But Arnold was.

There was no cry. There was only silence.

Arnold cried openly as Doctor Smith, Helga's obstetrician, and the nurses invited him to cut the umbilical cord. He held Stella close to him, holding her little hand in his while Doctor Smith determined the cause of death.

It was a knot in the umbilical cord that started toward the top. Doctor Smith nearly had to pry Arnold away from his daughter and force him out of the isolation room where the nurses kept her. He couldn't keep his eyes off Stella. He just couldn't. Shortly after persuading him to step away for a few, short moments, Doctor Smith sat Arnold down in his office and informed him that the knot formed in the umbilical cord at the beginning of the pregnancy. As Stella grew and became more active, the knot grew tighter until it completely cut off all her oxygen supply, killing her instantly. From the beginning of the pregnancy, it was inevitable that Stella would not survive.

"This is a very rare occurrence," Doctor Smith said in an attempt to console Arnold, "It happens one in every one million pregnancies, and any indication that there's something wrong never shows up on the ultrasounds until it's too late… Helga did nothing wrong, Arnold. She needs to know that."

Arnold nodded stoically, Doctor Smith's words offering him no comfort. It was obvious that Helga wasn't at fault for their daughter's death; Arnold knew that without a shadow of a doubt. What he didn't understand was why the gods doomed Helga to carry a baby that would only face an inevitable death. He was angry, confused, and devastated. All of Helga's tests and screenings came back negative, and like Doctor Smith pointed out, none of the ultrasounds Helga received over the course of her pregnancy showed any unusual findings until the one she received yesterday, confirming Stella's death.

This wasn't fair.

No matter what the future held, no matter what Arnold did in the years to come, he would never understand this particular twist of fate. He would never understand why Stella was born dead. He would never understand why he'd never get to take his daughter home and watch her grow up. Arnold would miss out on so many things – her first birthday, her first step, her first day of Kindergarten, where little Stella would cry and scream, and demand to stay home from school, while Arnold would scoop her into his arms and tell her that everything would be okay. She would never experience the joy of having her first kiss, or the pains that would come when her first boyfriend – whoever that bastard was destined to be, would break up with her. Arnold would never get those chances to comfort her during the tough times or to be her best friend during the best. It simply wasn't fair.

After Doctor Smith finished speaking with Arnold, he went back to the isolation room. He cradled his daughter, dressed in pink pastels with a bow on her head, and sat down in the rocking chair adjacent to Moses basket where Stella was kept, surrounded by a sea of soft blankets and stuffed animals.

He began rocking his daughter gently, wrapping his pointer finger around her small, delicate fingers as the tears continued falling.

_"Hush little baby, don't say a word…"_

Arnold could barely make out the last word before he broke down, holding Stella close to him. He was sure that the loud, sobs that racked his body could be heard all across the hospital, but he didn't care. He mourned for Stella, and it was his right to do just that.

…

"Mr. Shortman?"

"Y-yes?" Arnold asked, still looking at his daughter. He knew he was a mess, both emotionally and physically, but he didn't care.

"Your wife is awake," the nurse informed him gently, "She's been asking for you." She walked to where Arnold sat, holding Stella. "What a gorgeous child," she sighed, as she stroked Stella's cheek with her pointer finger. "I'm – I'm very sorry about your loss."

Arnold nodded.

"_Tough shit happens," _he thought bitterly, "_But this wasn't supposed to happen to me. To us. To her."_

"I'll walk you to where your wife is staying," the nurse informed him.

"Is she still sedated?" Arnold asked, getting up from the rocking chair. He reluctantly placed Stella back into the Moses basket gently and followed the nurse out of the room.

"Not anymore," the nurse sighed. "But we gave her a shot to prevent her milk production from starting. And… if it's of any solace to you Mr. Shortman, Doctor Wise, another one of the obstetricians, performed a routine exam on your wife while Doctor Smith was speaking with you. It appears that she's doing fine… physically. He said the two of you could try again in six weeks if you wanted."

"_That's supposed to make me feel better?"_Arnold demanded icily. _"My wife just gave birth to our dead__** daughter, **__a__nd you think that we'll be all better by trying again for another child! Do you seriously think that having another child will automatically make us feel better about the one we __**won't **__get to have!"_

He paused. The noise around him was too much for him to handle. Babies cried and screamed all around him, while large groups of people talked excitedly about a new delivery. An elderly couple walked joyously into a hospital room clad with presents, stuffed animals, and a balloon with the words "It's a Girl!" etched onto it, awaiting to visit their new grandchild and her parents. The next room over, the curtains were open, and Arnold watched as a young man, beaming with pride, walked toward his wife and placed a pink bundle into her arms. The wife held her child and smiled up at her husband. The two of them were happy. Here, in the maternity ward, everyone had a reason to celebrate. Everyone except Arnold and Helga; and while everyone smiled, Arnold was fuming.

"_Can't you get her out of here?" _he spat. "This is _torture. Pure torture, _having to hear all the babies screaming, listening as everyone, except us, celebrates a new life. Can you imagine how _my wife _feels about this?"

The nurse stopped in her tracks.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Shortman," she said quietly, her back still facing him. I'll check to see if there's a room open in the general recovery ward. Your wife is in room seventeen."

As the nurse walked off timidly, Arnold felt bad, but only for a small moment. He knew he shouldn't have yelled at her, but at the same time, didn't understand how the people who worked here could be so _insensitive _to other people's tragedies. Arnold continued walking down the corridor slowly until he stopped at room seventeen, where Helga was staying. The door handle had a black ribbon tied to it, indicating that Helga was grieving for a life lost, as opposed to celebrating a birth. On the two rooms on either side, rooms sixteen and eighteen, bright, pink ribbons hung on the two door handles.

"_How could fate be so cruel?" _Arnold thought bitterly as his head turned back and forth to stare at the pink ribbons.

Taking a deep breath, Arnold opened the door nervously. The hospital room walls were painted sky blue with white trimming. The window was shut, and on the cherry wood end table, was a bouquet of sunflowers and a sympathy card, signed by Doctor Smith and the nurses who assisted Helga with her delivery. On the left wall, was a bulletin board that had never been used, with a cherry wood table holding all of Arnold and Helga's belongings.

In the center of it all was a young woman, curled up in the fetal position under the blankets, attached to an I.V., visibly shaking.

"Hey," Arnold breathed quietly, trying to figure out what else to say. He walked toward the bed, laid on it, and turned toward Helga, enveloping her in his arms. Her azure eyes were large and tired, with dark circles forming beneath them. Her face, swollen and tear-stained, was tinged slightly with hints of red. Her lips were chapped, her blonde hair, slightly frizzy and askew. Her skin was pale, cold, and clammy, and yet, she never looked more beautiful to Arnold.

Helga only gave Arnold a small sigh.

"She – she's so beautiful, Helga," Arnold said, his voice trembling. "Stella… is everything I – I hoped she'd be… and more."

A loud, shrieking cry rang through both their ears.

"The cries… the babies… their cries are too loud," Helga said darkly. "Can't they stop crying?"

"I asked one of the nurses if she could move you to the general recovery area," Arnold said gently. He kissed Helga on the forehead. "I love you," he whispered, while he caressed her face gently.

"What would I do without you?" Helga sighed, averting her eyes away from his. "I'm… I'm so lucky you're here… with me."

"I should be the one asking that question," Arnold said sadly. He pulled his wife closer to him and kissed her on both cheeks. He held her close to him; he listened to her heartbeat and gently scratched her back, both massaging, and hugging her at the same time. "What you did in there… I could never do that. You're so strong, Helga."

Helga's eyes filled with tears. "I'd trade all that strength in the world for Stella to be alive," she said bitterly as the tears fell. "Don't we deserve to be happy, Arnold? I grew up in a shitty environment, where my parents could care less about me and where twelve-stepping didn't help Miriam in the slightest. Your parents disappeared when you were a baby, and yeah, they came back later, but think of all they missed out on… and of what you could've had during those nine years." She choked back a sob and said, "I just don't understand, Arnold. Don't you think that after all the tribulation we've suffered, that we should be the ones who have it good?"

Arnold wiped the tears away from his wife's eyes with his fingertips. He didn't know how to reply to his wife's claims, but he had to say something. "Things happen for a reason, Helga," Arnold sighed, "And chances are that we won't always know what that reason is right away… but I do believe that one day we'll see the bigger picture and understand why certain events in our lives transpire."

"_Please, Arnold,"_ Helga sighed bitterly, turning away from him. _"Not now."_

"Helga," Arnold said, gently touching her shoulder, "Think about it. Up until now, we've really enjoyed this. We've experienced _true joy_ in this pregnancy, and in having Stella in our lives. She was apart of our family then, and she still is. She always will be, Helga."

"Not the way I imagined she'd be," Helga muttered darkly, her back still facing Arnold. "Yesterday was the worst day of my life…. the day I felt… _nothing_."

Arnold shuddered and pulled himself closer to his wife. Yesterday morning, Helga called Arnold at work, frantic, saying that the baby wasn't moving. After calling Doctor Smith, Helga rushed to the hospital, where Arnold met her, and he, too, was frantic at that point, afraid that something was wrong with their little Stella. Doctor Smith immediately gave Helga an ultrasound, and sent her up for a level two ultrasound after he couldn't detect a heartbeat to make sure that nothing was wrong. Arnold held out hope that maybe, just _maybe,_ everything was fine, but Helga's eyes were empty, void of any emotion. She knew right away, and it was as though her eyes told Arnold to face the music.

"Yesterday was the worst day of my life too, Helga," Arnold breathed slowly. He placed his hands onto Helga's stomach and kissed her cheek. "But Stella will always be our daughter. She'll always be our first, and she'll always have a place in our hearts and in our lives. That will never change…. And maybe one day, we'll actually get to meet her."

"You mean in Heaven?" Helga asked coldly.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"We're going to have to tell people," Helga said coolly.

Arnold nodded. His parents, Gerald and Phoebe, his grandmother, who was still alive and well at the age of one-hundred (His grandfather had since died), Olga, Bob, and Miriam, would all have to know at some point about the tragedy he and Helga just faced. They'd all be devastated, but their feelings of loss wouldn't measure to how he and Helga felt. There were also co-workers, and bosses who would have to be told as well. Arnold shuddered at the thought of having to go back to work. He hoped that he could request one or two weeks off; losing Stella took so much physical and mental energy out of him. He dreaded the inevitable, when he would have to let everyone know about the loss he and Helga just faced.

"That can wait, Helga," Arnold said gently, massaging her back. "We don't have to say anything today or tomorrow… we can wait a few days if you want."

Helga nodded.

The silence was unbearable, with only the hum of the air conditioner and his wife's heavy breathing making their way in and out of Arnold's ears. Helga still shook while Arnold held her in his arms. She had to get out of this room, and fast.

"Helga?" It was a long shot, and the attempt would likely fail, but Arnold knew she needed that closure. "Would you like to meet her?"

…

Helga cradled Stella gently in her arms while she and Arnold stood over the Moses basket where the nurses kept her. "It was only inevitable that she would inherit your football head," Helga said, smiling sadly.

"She's the only baby girl I know of who could pull it off," Arnold replied, giving his wife a small, sad smile of his own. "She's beautiful," he said, stroking his daughter's hair gently.

"I'll always wonder," Helga said, looking down at Stella, "Who she would've been, who she would've taken after. Stella looks like _you, _but would she have _my _personality? Would she have been passionate about those she cares about? About those she loved?" Helga gave Stella soft smile and said, "Maybe she would've been a writer, a poet. She probably would've _loved _her English classes."

"Or maybe," Arnold said, putting his arm around Helga's and kissing her on the forehead, "She'd have _my _personality too. She would've made an amazing conflict mediator."

Helga snorted. "You? Conflict mediator?" She gave a small, watery chuckle and bent down to kiss Stella.

"Well," Arnold said, "If not that, then I could see her braving the jungles of San Lorenzo just like her grandparents before her." He paused, staring at Stella, mesmerized. "I wonder whose eyes she has."

"I always hoped she'd have my eyes since she got your football head," Helga answered quietly. "But we'll never know, will we?"

"Someday we'll know," Arnold said. He knew Helga rolled his eyes at this proclamation of his, but he believed what he said. Kissing her hair, he whispered, "This sounds selfish, but I always had the feeling that her eyes were green, like mine. But if you want to, we could say her eyes are blue just like yours… if it makes you feel better."

His wife sighed. "That'd be... really something," she said quietly. She turned toward Arnold. "I love you."

"I love you too," Arnold replied. _"__And I love you," _he said, placing his pointer finger directly onto where Stella's heart should've been beating. _"And I always will."_

Helga sighed. "I'll always wonder, you know? I'll always wonder what could've been, and I don't think I'll ever stop."

"We can't dwell on that forever," Arnold said, stroking Stella's cheek. "She wouldn't want us doing that… we have to move on at some point, Helga."

"You're right," Helga replied quietly. She handed Stella to Arnold, and scratched her head, the hair atop it still slightly askew. "Listen, Arnold…"

"I know what you're saying," Arnold said. He placed Stella back into the Moses basket and tucked her in, fluffing the pillow around her head and arranging the stuffed animals. He looked up. "We could try again in six weeks, if you wanted."

Helga paused, pursing her lips, staring at her husband and daughter. "Are you… are you okay with that, Arnold?"

"If it's what you want Helga, I'm behind you all the way," he said, grabbing her hands.

"But what if people think it's too soon?"

"Who cares what they think?" Arnold answered, squeezing Helga's hands. "They're in _no _position to judge us."

Arnold watched as his wife stared at him momentarily, her blue eyes lost in thought at the same time. She averted her gaze from him to the ceiling, taking long, deep breaths. She sighed, and met his eyes for the second time.

"I would like to try again."

…

Arnold and Helga left the hospital that day. They never made it to the general recovery ward of the hospital, as Helga insisted that she felt better and well rested enough that she didn't need several nurses to watch over her.

"I really feel like crap," Helga told Arnold as they drove home, "But I couldn't stay in that hospital any longer." Arnold understood; he only nodded and placed his right hand on his wife's knee as he continued driving.

They didn't leave the hospital _completely _empty handed; Doctor Smith called in a few of his friends who worked at the hospital in the next city over. These people dealt exclusively with couples that suffered the loss of having stillborn babies. They worked closely with Arnold and Helga, helping them with the funeral and burial arrangements. Clay molds of Stella's hands and feet were made, as were her hand and feet prints on separate pieces of paper. They dressed Stella in a white dress and gave her a white bow to wear, and took individual pictures of her. Additionally, Helga was in some pictures with her, as was Arnold, and pictures of the three of them, as a _family, _were taken as well.

Over five hundred photographs went home with Arnold and Helga on portable compact discs. Those pictures would belong to them forever. A beautiful sketch, colored with pastels, was drawn of Stella, and placed in a nice frame. The white dress she wore in the pictures went home with them, as did a stuffed zebra that was in the Moses basket. Lastly, Stella's death certificate went home with them in a large manila envelope, but Arnold and Helga hadn't opened it yet. They weren't ready. These were memories of their daughter, memories that they would always cherish.

When they arrived home, Helga took the mementos of their time with Stella up to what should've been her nursery while Arnold took their luggage and placed it in their bedroom. He joined Helga in the nursery, where he found her staring into the crib.

Arnold went up and held her from behind. "Do you want me to take this down?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"No," Helga said. "Keep it up. Maybe we'll have another girl."

Arnold nodded and kissed Helga tenderly. They both cried together, silently.

Life would go on, and Arnold and Helga would have more children. In the years to come, their lives would be busy balancing homework, sports practices, music lessons, university applications, crushes, gossip, friendships, both short and everlasting, obnoxious teachers, dating, first kisses, heartbreak, Prom nights, college, marriage, and then the cycle would start again. Life would go on, and one day, the two of them would become empty nesters, wondering where all the years went. Life would go on, and soon, they would have grandchildren. Life would go on, and soon, only their descendants would be around to carry their legacy of love. Life would go on, and soon, their lives would be busy again with work, family, friends, and possibly, the joys and fears of another pregnancy. Life would go on, as it always does, but no matter what, Arnold would always love his sweet, little Stella, his oldest child.

The child who never opened her eyes.

They were green, just like his; he knew it.

Arnold could only hope to one day meet Stella, his little girl, in a world beyond the one he lived in, but even if he never did, he would always love her.

Still.


End file.
